


Bad Days

by FlorentineQuill



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Emotional Hurt, F/M, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Physical hurt, phantom wing pain, repercussions!, scar peekage, vindictive Diaval
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlorentineQuill/pseuds/FlorentineQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maleficent occasionally has bad days. Diaval watches and wishes he could do more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The pain woke her. Sometimes, it was the unpredictable weather at the turn of the seasons. Other times, she would shudder out of sleep for no discernible reason, shoulders already hunched against the pain. Whatever the cause, there was little she could do, besides lie on her stomach in her nest and wait, careful to let nothing but air touch her scars. No magic could touch these injuries, healed as much they ever would be. No tonics, no herbal concoctions, or salves, nothing magical or mundane. The gods only knew that Balthazar had tried any number of healings— his own, others, both from within the Moors and outside— in the weeks after her wings had been stolen.

Her flight muscles spasmed, and her breath caught in her throat. She rose up onto her elbows, her spine arched up in an effort to still jerking muscles. While nothing could compared to the first agony of waking up without her wings, days like these came close. Iron-cut muscles tried to move wings that were no longer there; every movement a sharp, searing thing. Empty wing joints ached, pain wrapping around her shoulders and ribs like a vice. On the very worst days, she could swear that her wings were there, that she could feel them open and close, feel the brush of feathers against bare skin.

Her muscles quieted, and she took a deep, shaking breath, dropping back onto her stomach. Her pillows were wet with tears that had slipped out, and the blankets were clammy with sweat. Her lip was raw where she chewed on it, and she shivered in the cool air of the caves. There was little else she could do, left alone with her thoughts. She hated days like this. Hated Stefan, hated herself. 

Her wards flickered as someone entered the caves she called her own. _Diaval. His weekly report. Of course._  Thus far, he had always been away during previous bad days. _He was bound to find out, sooner or later._ His wingbeats preceded him, and she pressed her forehead to her pillow. She tried not to hate him, tried not to hate his wings. It was hard on days like this. There was a flurry of wingbeats, and talons scratched against stone as he landed. She swallowed, and kept still. 

“…Quark?” Diaval’s croak seemed tentative. They were still learning each other, learning the other’s moods and quirks, feeling out the edges of oaths sworn.

She took a breath, licked her lips. “A moment, Diaval.” Her magic slid through her fingers, but it was unruly, wanting to lash out at the cause of her pain. Some days she let it bring storms, just to give it something to do, some form of release. It took her several minutes to find the level of concentration needed to slip Diaval between his skins. Eventually, gold slid over the edge of her nest and under glossy, raven feathers. 

“Mistress?” Diaval’s voice was a bare whisper.

“Diaval,” she replied, and turned her head. He was kneeling on the ground still, and his face was pale. His eyes were wide as he took in the raw, ugly scars on her back before he snapped his gaze to the ground in front of him, shoulders hunching. “I can shift you back, if you’d rather be in your feathers so badly,” she said. Her voice was a little rougher than usual, but the humor was there. 

Diaval looked back up. He blinked at her several times, twisting his head to one side to eye her in a way that was more bird than human. “That would make it hard to give my report, I would think,” he finally said.

“Stop trying to shrink then,” she replied, and his lips twitched. He settled himself more comfortably on the ground, sitting up straight. He cocked an eye at her, in a silent (if somewhat uncertain) challenge. She ignored the worry— worse, the curiosity— he couldn’t hide, and sighed. “What news from the castle?” she asked, closing her eyes.

Diaval hesitated. “The court is still aflutter at dealing with a commoner as their new king,” he said. “No one has challenged him directly since before the coronation and wedding, but there are rumors.”

“Really,” Maleficent said, cracking one eye open. _Rumors have promise._ “What have you—” She lost the rest of her sentence as her flight muscles convulsed. She dropped her head, and bit her pillow to keep from crying out. She breathed harshly through her nose, waiting for the pain to pass.  _It always ends,_ she reminded herself.  _This will pass, this will pass, this will pass..._

“Mistress!” Diaval sounded alarmed, she heard him get to his feet—

_Don’t come near me!_ Her magic lashed out, pressing him back against the unyielding stone of the cave wall. After what felt like a small eternity, her muscles went still. She let go of her pillow, and went limp, shoulders shaking. Her magic pulled back, and Diaval let out a sigh of relief as his feet touched the ground.

“My apologies,” she said, once her breath was back. “Today is…a bad day.”

“I’m not hurt,” Diaval said. “Feeling a bit squeezed, but I’ll live.”

She glanced at him. If he had been ashen before, he was the color of chalk now. But he didn’t move from where he stood, pressed up against the wall, watching her warily. “Fetch Balthazar," she commanded. "I’ll hear the rest of your report at the hot springs.” She twitched her fingers and magic swept over Diaval before he could speak.

He slipped back into his feathers, gliding down to the cave floor. He shook himself, and bobbed his head before taking off. Maleficent listened to his wingbeats grow softer, felt him slip back through her wards, and into the Moors proper. She closed her eyes, and breathed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diaval sees Maleficent's scars, not for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the movie.

Diaval fluttered into Maleficent’s sleeping cave, shaking the last of the unexpected rain from his feathers. The lights were glowing a dim, sulfurous green, but there was no movement in her nest. _Ah_ , he thought. _Bad day_. _That explains the weather, at least._  He clicked his beak once or twice, and cleared his throat. 

After a moment, there came a sigh. “What is it, Diaval?” There was a worn out, resigned, exhaustion to her words, dulling them of her usual acerbity. He watched as gold slid over the edge of her nest, and rippled over the rough stone floor, before washing over him. He shuddered through the change; magic tugging impatiently at bone, and muscle, and skin that resisted just a hair longer than normal. It never really hurt, but it wasn't comfortable. He got to his feet as a man, feeling somewhat stiff as bones settled, and muscles creaked. His clothes dripped, clinging to his skin. He shoved his hair back from his face, and tried not to shiver in the chill of the caves.

Maleficent was lying flat on her stomach, her head turned away from the door. Her blankets were draped over her hips, leaving her back exposed. Several of her pillows were wedged under her head and chest, propping her up. Her breathing was far too even, and he could feel the tension carved into hunched, trembling, shoulders from where he stood. He could see the gleam of sweat on her skin. Not for the first time, he saw the twisted, horrifying scars carved into her skin. They were red and jagged, as if they were only a few months old, instead of years. They stretched from the ruins of her wing joints— collapsed in on empty sockets, distorted dips at the top of elongated shoulder blades— to halfway down her ribs. 

As he watched, atrophied flight muscles shivered and jumped under slack skin. Maleficent’s breathing hitched in what almost a sob. He saw the whitened gleam of her knuckles as she grabbed an old pillow, back arching. The thick fabric creaked, and gave with a muted pop, but her grip didn’t relax. After a minutes, her flight muscles stopped moving. She slumped against her pillows, and panted to get her breath back.

He closed his eyes for a moment. _I hate bad days_. He very rarely felt useless, but bad days were a hellish exception. He swallowed the lump in his throat, tried to ignore the ache in his chest. “Aurora is at the border,” he said quietly. “I will make your excuses.”

Maleficent turned her head to stare at him. Her eyes were half-shut and dull, dark circles stark in the cave’s eerie lighting. Her cheeks were wet with tears, but he ignored them. “What do I care for the feelings of that little beast?” she asked after a moment. There was a trace of old hatred, but it was half-hearted at best.

He bit his tongue, and didn’t say anything as thunder rumbled directly overhead. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel her magic fueling the early autumn storm. Normally, she kept her magic flawlessly in control, but on days like this, it was harder. Sometimes it was only a few trickles, barely enough to stir a breeze. Sometimes it was like today, magic pushing an early autumn storm to come up sooner, last a little bit longer, hit a little harder.

“Shall I look for you at the hot springs, later?” he finally asked, looking down at the floor. On her bad days, hot water was the only thing that half-soothed the pain of broken muscles trying to work. Of course, she had to be able to get to the hot springs. Sometimes she could walk by herself— Slowly, one step at time, and leaning heavily on her staff. Other days, she permitted Balthazar to carry her. But she so rarely accepted help, of any kind, and Balthazar was often away now, helping patrol the thorn wall.

To see his mistress— beautiful, proud, clever, _hurting,_ mistress— brought so low, made his heart break all over again. Combined with the few whispers he had overhead, of what she had been like _before_ her wings had been stolen _… Well._ He nursed his own hatred of King Stefan, and had some very detailed ideas as to how the man could die. Slowly. Preferably with Diaval there to peck out his eyes and guts. _Leave the tongue though, so he can still scream._

“Perhaps,” she said, and stopped with a ragged gasp as her muscles spasmed, eyes clenching shut. He took a step forward, involuntarily, and froze when she spoke again. “Go dance attendance on the girl, Diaval. We can hardly let her wander about the Moors unsupervised.” She turned her head away from him once more.

“Yes, mistress,” he said quietly and turned to go. He croaked to himself as he left, trying to ignore any stifled noises that might have echoed down the cave’s passages.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diaval gets the chance to discuss something with Aurora.

Diaval hunched his shoulders, and tucked his hands, chilly fingers and all, under his armpits. The rain hadn’t let up at all, and there was a fell wind skittering through the trees. His head jerked up as something in the undergrowth rustled, and twigs snapped underfoot nearby. After their last thrashing, he didn’t think Stefan’s soldiers would be too near the thorn-wall—

“Godmother? Diaval?” 

_Ah_. He let out a sigh of relief. Aurora was distinctive in her blue coat, and in the curse tucked against her bones. He could feel his mistress’s magic, after seventeen years. The magic maintaining the thorns often overpowered anything else in the area but the curse was…unique. Darker. Aurora smiled when she spotted him, but frowned as she drew closer. “Hello, little one,” he said, and tried not to shiver obviously. Above them, the sky was a stormy grey. He breathed deep. More magic prickled in the air, along his skin, and high up among the clouds. _Definitely a bad, bad day._

“Hello, Diaval,” Aurora said. “Are— Are you alright?” she asked. “You look cold. Where’s Godmother?”

Diaval licked his lips. “I’ll be fine.” He hesitated, but forced himself to shrug, and smile. “Your godmother won’t be here today. She’s not feeling well.” 

Aurora’s eyes widened. “She hasn’t come down with a fever has she? I’m sure my Aunties have something back at the cottage that would help— Auntie Flittle is awfully good with herbs of all sorts.”

“No, no, she’s not sickening for anything,” he reassured her hastily. _Pigs will fly before Mistress accepts help from those three._  “She’s just…having a bad day. Come, let’s walk a while.” He draped an arm around her shoulders, and steered her away from the thorn border. With the rain and Maleficent’s mood, today would not be a pleasant day for anyone forced to be out and about. 

“Alright.” Aurora sounded doubtful, but allowed herself to be guided back into the forest surrounding her home. “Will Godmother really be alright?” she asked after several minutes.

Diaval sighed. He looked around the forest, and nodded at a study pine that would shelter them from the rain, at least a little. “Here, let’s sit for a bit.” He waited for Aurora to settle herself on a thick, upthrust root, and then crouched before her, taking her hands in his own. “Your hands are cold,” he said, and rubbed them between his own. 

“So are yours,” Aurora giggled, but fell silent at his somber demeanor. 

“I've actually been meaning to speak to you about this for a while,” he said. “You remember when Mistress told you about her wings?” He watched her carefully.

“Yes, of course,” Aurora said, looking uncertain.

“I almost fell out of the sky when you asked her about them,” he said. “I _did_ lose a few feet of altitude when she answered you.” His throat tightened and he cleared it. "I think it was the first time she told anyone about them."  _Because everyone else knew. Or knew better than to ask._ It had taken him several weeks, and one early morning discussion with Balthazar before he had fit all the pieces together. He had spent the day numbly clinging to Balthazar's shoulder, sickened by what Stefan had done. No wonder Maleficent wanted revenge.  _Who wouldn't?_

Aurora bit her lip, and hunched her shoulders under her coat. “She said she lost them,” she said, her voice small.

Diaval shook his head. “No. She said they were stolen from her.” He gripped her hands, willing her to understand. “Remember that, little one. She does not misuse her words, your godmother. Remember that…and don’t her ask about them again.” He kept his voice gentle, but Aurora looked stricken.

“I didn’t mean to— I was just curious,” she whispered. “All the other faeries…”

“I know you were,” he said. “But it hurts her, to think of her wings, even after all these years.” He swallowed, weighing secrets against trust. He felt the weight of his oath around his heart (heavy and aching), and took a deep breath. “Some days her shoulders and back hurt too much for her to move.” 

“Oh.” Aurora went quiet. “Days like today?”

_She’s a clever one._ “Yes,” he said. He glanced up at the sky. The storm had rolled in, during the night. “No more than a day, I would think." _Hope._  "Keep an eye on the weather,” he added and stood up. “You didn’t know,” he said, helping her to her feet. “You do now.”

She nodded, and lifted her chin. “Yes. I do. I— Should I do anything, apologize for asking?” she asked, touching his sleeve.

_She would eviscerate you for that, little one._ He shook his head. “It would be kinder not to.” His lips twitched. “She is passing fond of your sweetbread. If you happen to bring a loaf, sometime soon…” He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Even if she refuses, I know I would appreciate it. There aren't many bakers in a forest, you know.” 

Aurora cracked a smile and shook her head. “Incorrigible thief,” she mock-scolded.

“I try.” He smiled, and offered her his arm. “Now, we might not want to venture into the Moors today, but I came from a forest very much like this, far to the North. I should be able to show you some of this forest’s secrets.”

“I would like nothing better,” Aurora said, and they stepped back out into the rain.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be a bonus chapter, where Diaval runs into Balthazar. Maybe. Right now I'm marking this complete because chemistry is eating my brain and free time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is waiting for Diaval when he gets back to the Moors.

“Are you sure you won’t stay the night?” Aurora asked Diaval. She eyed his soaked coat doubtfully. "You've been shivering for most of the day. I’m sure my aunties wouldn’t mind making up a bed for you in front of the fire.”

Diaval shook his head, tucking his coat about himself. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I have a few nests in the Moors, tucked away where I’ll be warm enough.” He nudged her towards the house she shared with the pixies. “Go, your aunties will be waiting.” _Witless as they are, I think they would eventually recognize my markings if I spent the night._

He watched from the trees as Aurora entered her house. They had spent the day pleasantly enough (rain aside), but Aurora had been quieter than normal. She had spoken very little, and Diaval had left her to her thoughts, well pleased. _She’s a good girl. Just a bit…thoughtless. And young_. He blew out a breath. _So very, very, young._ He turned back into the forest, jogging to try and keep warm. Soaked or not, he wasn’t about to disturb Maleficent just to get his feathers back. The bit about warm nests might have been a slight exaggeration on his part. _I can spend the night at the hot springs, even if they_   _are a tad exposed. Ah, well, raven-man. You can survive one sleepless night._ It wouldn't be the first time he had stayed awake late and flown on sleepless wings, bringing back more news from the castle. (He would just have to avoid large, raven-splattering obstacles, like trees and barns.)

He edged his way through the thorns separating the Moors from human lands. Maleficent's magic thrummed under his skin, prickling reassurances as he felt his way past the sharp thorns in the dim twilight. There was enough of her magic that the smaller branches creaked and moved aside for him, but it was still slow going. He eased past the last of the thorns and stopped, taken aback at the sight that greeted him: A massive war-hog rooting near the treelike, happily grunting as it ate. He blinked at it.

_Balthazar is here?_ He shook his head.  _Why am I not surprised?_

He entered the trees, giving the war-hog a pat as he passed by. The massive beast flicked an ear at him, but didn’t raise its head. Food was much more important than the odd-smelling, twiggy shape passing by it. If it was twilight in the open, night had come early under the cover of the forest. There was little Moor-light to help him see, and he stumbled over half a dozen roots before arriving at the fallen trees that marked the entrance to Maleficent’s caves. He nodded a greeting at the hamadryad waiting for him. “Balthazar. Good to see you.”

“Diaval. It’s not often I see you in your man-shape,” Balthazar rumbled in the harsh language of his kind. He studied the raven-man for a moment. “I have a report for Maleficent.” 

Diaval lifted an eyebrow. “How convenient,” he replied. Balthazar returned to give a report of how the border fared once a moon. Most of the attacks were focused here, where Maleficent was seen patrolling, but there were often a few companies who tried nibbling at the thorns to the south. Barely two weeks had passed since his last visit.

“Is it?” Balthazar’s voice was bland. “I hadn’t noticed.” He stepped forward and crouched in front of Diaval. “How is she?” he asked, more quietly.

Diaval resisted the urge to take several steps back— Balthazar was intimidating from a distance. Up close, he was imposing, if not outright terrifying to those who didn’t know him. Diaval let out a slow breath, and shook his head. “Not good. The thunder stopped by mid-afternoon, but I don’t know if that’s because she’s feeling better, or if her magic finally wore itself out,” he said. He looked down at the ground. “Would you like me to see if she’ll see you?”

Balthazar stood back up. “Please.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say one bonus chapter? I meant three. But hey, I'm on top of school for the first time in a month!


	5. Chapter 5

Diaval closed his eyes, and let out a very human-sounding sigh as he settled himself on Balthazar’s shoulder. He was back in his feathers, and finally beginning to feel warm again. Maleficent had been persuaded out of her nest, and was soaking in the hot springs before them. “You had a report for me, Balthazar?” she asked, and Diaval cracked one eye open. _She looks a lot better_. Diaval had taken his own bath in an adjacent spring, chasing away the last of the chills the day had left him with.

Maleficent was in the deepest part of the hot springs, treading just enough water to keep her head above the surface. The water distorted everything, but she seemed more relaxed. The tight lines of pain around her eyes, and forehead were gone. She looked almost content. 

Balthazar settled himself on the ground next to the hot spring. “There were several, smaller attacks since my last report,” he said. “One or two companies with iron and fire, but they scattered easily enough. My scouts claim that they’ve packed up their camps, and have retreated to one of the local lords.”

“A full day of riding, just to tell me you might be having a lull?” Maleficent asked, raising one eyebrow. “How…diligent.”

Diaval laughed, and shook his head, stretching out his neck. “Now how did I know she wouldn’t be fooled?” he asked Balthazar in raven-speech.

“Quiet, bird,” Balthazar rumbled. “A lull will let us rest, perhaps switch up some of the patrol groups,” he said to Maleficent. “Amadeus is ready for some leadership, and I would not mind being closer to home for a spell.” He tilted his head. “Especially when I hear tell of a human in the Moors, once more.”

“What of it?” Maleficent asked. She drifted close enough to settle her feet on the bottom of the spring. She lifted her chin, in silent challenge, but Balthazar didn’t move.

“Nothing of it,” he replied. “I would prefer to know her, than not.”

Maleficent let out a breath, looking away. “Look your fill,” she said, moving back into the hot springs. “She will turn sixteen, and the curse will fell her before Midsummer.” She turned her back on them both, diving under the water.

Diaval grumbled in his throat, but said nothing. Balthazar gave him a side-long look, and he bobbed his head. “Later _,_ ” he said softly.

“I will stay then,” Balthazar said, just as soft. 

Maleficent resurfaced, and swam back to the edge. She settled on the rough stone ledge that served as a bench, and slouched down into the water, leaning her head back.“Mother-hens, the both of you,” she accused them without turning around, but there was no censure in her voice.

Diaval cawed a laugh. Maleficent didn’t stir, but gold danced across the surface of the water. Diaval shut his beak with a snap, and it was Balthazar’s turn to chuckle. Diaval pecked at the hamadryad’s jaw, but Balthazar jerked his head away. “Don’t think I won’t knock you senseless, raven-man,” he rumbled.

“Promises, promises,” Diaval said. Still, he tipped forward off Balthazar’s shoulder, fluttering down to the ground. He picked his way across the rough, uneven stone of the springs. He stopped a few feet away from Maleficent, watching her closely. She had her eyes closed, but that meant little. He edged forward several inches until the water rippled, her shoulders twitching upwards. He slid back half a step and settled himself.

Balthazar snorted, and stood up. “I will patrol until you’re ready to return,” he told Maleficent, and retreated into the trees. Diaval watched him go, and clicked his beak. He muttered low in his throat, fluffing his feathers. _You’re well-guarded here, Mistress,_ he thought. _Rest._


	6. Chapter 6

It was a very quiet walk to the clifftop where Diaval kept his nest. Maleficent’s back and shoulders had been much improved by the hot springs— She had walked back instead of being carried, steadying herself on Balthazar’s leg in lieu of her staff. When Diaval had made as if to escort her into the caves, she stopped him with a flat look. Nothing so obvious as a glare or even a wisp of magic, but the intent had been clear. _No more._ He hadn’t moved from Balthazar’s shoulder, and Maleficent had entered her caves alone, without a word.

Balthazar reached the great tree, but Diaval didn’t move. He eyed the branches of the tree above him, but didn’t open his wings or crouch. Balthazar turned his head enough and though he lacked eyebrows, Diaval got the distinct impression of one being raised.  _Can't_ possibly _imagine who he got it from._  

 “It’s been a very long day,” he croaked.

“You were swaying, earlier,” Balthazar said, settling himself on the ground. There were flickers of movement underneath his legs and his hands as he sank roots into the ground. “Days like this are hard, on all of us, I think. Have you eaten?”

Diaval clicked his beak. “When would I have had the chance?” he asked. He shook himself and leapt upwards. His wings felt slow and clumsy in the air, but he landed well enough. He squeezed the branch between his talons, and sighed. “I’ll live. I don’t think anyone will be stirring early tomorrow. I have some caches nearby, and Aurora is fond of feeding us.”

Balthazar creaked as he leaned back against the great-tree’s trunk. “Aurora.” He repeated the name several times. “She is welcome in the Moors, and breaks bread with you. With the one who cursed her, no less.” Another slow, thoughtful creak. “Tell me about her, raven-man.” It was less a request and more an order. Diaval was half-tempted to snap his beak, but Balthazar had been here far longer than he. He was Moorfolk, with that intrinsic understanding of magic that Diaval lacked, and had known Maleficent since she was a fledgling.

“Curious as a raven about the world, that’s what caught Mistress’s attention.” He preened his chest for a moment. “She is very kind. I don’t think I’ve heard her say a cross word to anyone, ever. That might be because of Flittle’s blessing. But she is well-loved.” He paused. “By all who meet her, it would seem.”

Balthazar went very still. “Do you think so?” he asked.

“She walks the Moors freely by Mistress’s side, and calls her Godmother,” Diaval replied. “She doesn’t know the truth, but Mistress lets her.” 

“Fae have never hesitated to use other names or titles with humans,” Balthazar said. “Though they must be true to us in some fashion.” He hesitated. “Maleficent does not consider herself worthy of the Protector title. And most other names would only bare old wounds.”

Diaval flinched. Some of the other fae used such names in soft whispers— _Wingless, Lady of the Thorns, Heartlost, Dark Mistress—_ and he always wanted to peck them, rake them with his claws. He contented himself with smaller revenges, rocks (and less pleasant things) dropped from on high.

“You know the curse as well as I. And you know more of magic.” He shuffled back and forth on the branch, opening and closing his talons. 

“Only from your report, and soldier gossip,” Balthazar replied. “If I saw the girl, I could be more certain.” He sighed. “Maleficent, caught in her own curse. There is an odd sort of balance in that, and magic is often fond of balance. If she had gone after Stefan directly, it would have been a much simpler matter.”  

“But is it enough?” Diaval shook himself all over. “I— It is not fair to Aurora. Would it be enough to save her?” 

“Only if Maleficent acknowledges that she loves the girl, and provides the kiss,” Balthazar said. He shook his head. “I never thought to see her be a mother. She was too focused on guarding the borders, too solitary.”

_And males of her own kind are thin on the ground_. Diaval tried not to feel too pleased about that, tucking it away in the back of his mind and the corners of his heart. “No, I think Aurora named her correctly. For all their idiocy, the pixies had cared for her well enough. But where they fail, Mistress steps in.”

Balthazar gave Diaval a measured look. “And what of fathers, and father-figures?” He asked. “Even if the curse strikes her down, I do not think the girl would sleep long. Maleficent is not the only one caught in the curse, by my judge.”

Diaval ducked his head. Ravens could not blush, but he was more than that, and it did feel oddly warm under his feathers. “I’m just a raven,” he said, not meeting Balthazar’s eye. “Love is different for birds.” He leapt up again, up to where he had built his own nest. He ignored Balthazar as he tugged and rearranged the softer bits of lining to his liking, and settled down.

“If you say so.” Balthazar watched him, and sighed. “Enjoy your rest, Diaval. As you said, it has been a very long day.” He settled himself more comfortably against the tree trunk, and closed his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter wanted me to go off on several world-building tangents! I ignored them. For the most part. For now.


End file.
